* Author :
Charles Chin
* Narrator :
Eric Valdes
* Host :
Matt Dovey
* Audio Producer :
Eric Valdes
PodCastle 903: On the Shoulders of Giants is a PodCastle original.
content warning for suicidal ideation
Rated PG
On the Shoulders of Giants
by Charles Chin
I was born a T12. Sure, it was the lowest of the thoracic vertebrae, but it was higher than any of the lumbars. I should be thankful to have been born high enough to see above the clouds. The L2s and L3s that climb beside me spent most of their youth in the haze below, unable to see the sun, not knowing how much more of the giant there was left to climb. But not me: fortunate me.
I grasp at rocky outcroppings and pull myself up the well worn stairs, carved into the ground by those who came before me. Moss hangs from the edges where feet avoid stepping, lest they slip down into the endless void of white below. The wall to my left rises as a sheer cliff of granite, or perhaps marble. It is difficult to know from the amount of lichen and foliage that hang down like curtains. But through the small holes cleaned out by the hands of travelers before, I can sometimes see the glint of the giant who breathes underneath.
Another step, another step. I hang my free hand into the air and feel the breeze, looking out to a flat horizon. I squint at a dark object in the distance. Another giant, perhaps. Impossible to tell, as they never get close enough to truly see. I turn back to the stairs and find a small cavern ahead, a respite from the daily climb.
A few other travelers have already taken shelter, gathering around a small fire in the center of the cavern. I find an empty place and sit, taking a moment to rub the calluses on my bare feet.
“Hail, traveler,” one says. “I am an L1. What are you?”
“I am a T12.”
“Ah, a young Thora, I see. Sturdy legs, Thoras. By the look of your feet you have made good progress, yes?”
I smile weakly at him as I place my hands near the smoldering fire. “Yes, good progress.” I glance around at weary faces, dimly lit with orange and red. I wonder if my face shows the same sunbaked features as theirs, or if perhaps I still had the luster of youth that seems to fall away with every step up the giant. In the silence, I feel compelled to fill the air. “Do you wonder what stands at the top? Or think about why we climb?”
“Because we must,” he says in a voice that tells me there will be no further elaboration, and that asking for such would be pointless. The others around the fire nod in agreement, repeating the phrase in a murmur.
I drop the subject and look around at my surroundings, finding at the back of the cave a figure hunched in the darkness, the texture of her skin blending in with the rocks around her. If not for the faint movement of her breathing, I would have not noticed her.
“Who is that?”
He glances over briefly. “An old L5. She does not speak, and has been here since before any of this group entered the cave. This will be her final place, back to the stone of the giant.”
I look to the others around the fire, but none react. “We should help her climb,” I offer to no one in particular.
They chuckle amongst themselves. Another traveler with a stick points it at me. “Young Thora. You can be forgiven naivety now, but you must learn quickly if you are to make it to the top.” He lowers the stick and plunges it into the fire, embers crackling at the disturbance. “If you stop to help every traveler on the way, they will keep you from your potential.
